The Exile

THE EXILE A Gay Fantasy Experiment

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I have written before of how Damon's skin would glow after his feeding. At times it was only a subtle luminescence, as though small candles burned beneath his flesh. At others, I could scarcely bare to look upon him, my eyes flinching before his brilliance as though he were the very sun itself. In the darkness of the Anatherian tombs when he had first joined himself to me, I had looked upon this light with the eyes of a hopeless, despairing man and gave my new servant the name of an angel from the traditions of our people. My angel. My savior. Since that time I had come to learn that Damon, the original Damon, the one who had served Alander, had been no angel at all but only a close friend and ally to my ancient ancestor. In the generations that had passed since that time, my people had transmuted the tale of Alander and his friends into something larger than life, and thus the story of Damon as an angel had come into being. Perhaps in some sermon by a High Priest hundreds of years ago Tharon, Veru, and the others had been called angels in some metaphoric sense, and in the intervening years the concept had taken a far more literal turn. Whatever the origin, I now knew the truth: that there had never been a glowing angel from heaven named Damon.

In the same way I now knew that my servant who shared Damon's name was not the angel or savior I had first believed him to be. Experience had shown that he was something for more incomprehensible, for more darker and at times terrifying than I could have imagined. His beautiful name was a mockery now, an irony -- but despite my best efforts to label him some other way, I have never been able to think of him as anything but Damon. I can still see him in my mind's eye: his beauty that never altered or aged, his dark and knowing smile, the look of triumph on his face whenever I would enter him and pour out my life energy into him. He was all power and usefulness, but at terrible cost. I could never forgive what he had done to Hollis, what he had threatened to do to others should I reveal his existence, and so I had sworn every oath I knew that I would no longer give him sustenance nor make us of his power no matter the consequence.

But that night as my father lay dying, those oaths fell to dust. The stakes could not be higher, and there was no other choice left to me. Or so I told myself continually as I thrust in and out of him, biting my lip and hoping it would be over soon. My skin glistened already from the exertion of our union, though Damon's of course did not. He did not sweat. His pulse did not quicken. He lay on his back with his legs wrapped around my buttocks and his hands tucked behind his head arrogantly. He bore his signature smirk, and looked into my eyes with an intensity that frightened me. In any other circumstance, that fear would have unmanned me and made me soft and limp, making our joining impossible. But such was never the case with Damon - once he had you in his power, once you were inside him, there was no turning back. His power drew you on, almost against your will, until before you knew you were ready you were calling out and shuddering as you emptied yourself into him.

With each feeding, I had noticed my pleasure was longer and more intense than the last. My climax lasted for what felt like hours, and often I would lose all consciousness once the deed was done. So it was this time. I must have cried out as the moment came. And yet my guards, posted right outside my tent, did not enter to check on me, for when I awoke some time later there was only Damon with me. His skin was so brilliant that it cast my shadow against the cloth walls of the tent. I was exhausted, drained of all energy and life. When I raised my hand to implore Damon's help, it shook with frailty.

"Please," I whispered, almost too weak to speak, "I must reach my father, in the village."

Damon smiled and knelt beside me to brush his fingers through my hair. "You were wise to seek my aid," he said.

"There are many guards, and I must not be seen," I continued, "Can you do this?"

He laughed softly. It was a pleasant enough sound, the laugh of a handsome young man, but it harrowed me to my bones. "Master," he said, a drop of irony in his voice at the word, "Have you learned nothing of me in the time we have been together? I can do anything for you, anything at all -- provided you feed me sufficiently."

I shook my head. No more, I thought. After this, never again. But I did not dare say this aloud for fear that Damon would choose not to help me. I had long passed the point where I believed I could truly command his loyalty.

"For me to pass by the guards undetected is nothing," he said, "But for you - it is impossible. There are too many men, their defenses too great. You cannot hope to reach your goal without being caught. Unless..." He paused dramatically.

"What?"

"If I were to merge my power with your body, we could easily reach the village. Together. And not a single soul would notice our passing." He ran his fingers lightly over my face and neck.

"Merge?" My skin crawled, and little bumps appeared all along my arms. He smiled and brushed them with his fingers.

"Yes, Master. I believe our bond is finally deep enough, my power strong enough for me to add my strength to yours. Many times you have entered me," he grinned as his squeezed my softened manhood, "and now the time has come for me to enter you. I shall wear your body like a suit of armor, and you shall be able to do things you never thought possible."

"You will take control of my body?"

"In a sense," he admitted, still playing with my sacred organs gently, "We will be as one, but I will direct our movements."

My eyes widened. "When I was in the Archbishop's dungeons, you tried this," I remembered, "You tried to move my hand."

"I was too weak then. You had been stubborn and foolish and had not fed me in days. All I wanted to do was help you... if I had been able to force you to give yourself to me as I attempted, you would have thanked me for it later, I promise."

No, I thought. There is danger here. I cannot.

"When we reach the village, you will release me?" I asked.

"Of course, Master," he said, "I do not as yet have the power to maintain the union for long anyway."

"And you will never merge with me again save at my command?"

His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Of course," he said.

I did not believe him. What he suggested felt like a violation or a sacrilege. I had not idea what Damon was or what he truly wanted, and this union would give him far too much control. In my vision in the tomb I had learned that everything in creation had its place in the totality of existence, but I could not imagine a proper place or purpose for the creature who had become my servant. My hesitation was useless, however; as useless as it had been in the seconds before I gave my blood to release him, or before I had given in to his persuasion to take the Prince's Blade, or before any other point in my journey in which he had pulled me along reluctantly to his will. There was simply no other visible option, and my desire was very great. I rose unsteadily to my feet and dressed myself. At last, when I was certain I was prepared for the journey, I turned to him and nodded.

"Let it be done, then," I said, "It is night already. We do not have a moment to lose."

He approached me, and... I am not sure I can describe how it happened. He entered me - indeed, in many ways the sensation was much the same as when Alek had entered me during our lovemaking in Alander's tomb. Not precisely the same, of course, for this was a much deeper entering, and a far more complicated union. Damon's flesh, which was at the end of the day only an illusion and not true flesh at all, slowly melted away and became my flesh, until there was only one being where before there had been two. When it was done, I could hear him inside our mind.

"Oh, yes, Master. Yes! It has been so long... To have a real body of flesh and blood, to exist in one definitive shape... You have given me a great gift this day, Markis. This is right. This is the way it was always meant to be. For us both." I could feel his joy and pleasure radiating through me, far more intense than anything I had sensed from him during our physical unions. It was extremely disquieting, but I brushed my anxiety aside to face the present moment.

We moved quickly. I was helpless and watched uneasily as Damon directed our movements. I was like a puppet on strings, for he controlled every motion. He placed each foot in front of the other. He raised my arm to part the doorway of my tent. I felt him expend a portion of his power, and then my guards found their attention otherwise directed. We passed by them unseen, and with a thrill of relief I realized that Damon's promises were true. We could reach my father. Soon, I would be by his side.

The journey did not take long, for Damon moved us quickly through the dark forest that had long been my home. As I had expected, there were many of our sentinels out that night, far more than usual since the village was now alerted to the presence of my small army. They knew every root, tree, and branch, and their eyes were trained to peer through the darkest night. An ordinary man would have no hope of escaping their notice. But Damon's power flowed out of us continually, obscuring vision, creating distractions, creating disguises. Through him I could sense the men around us in the forest though I could not see them, and I recognized them. I knew each of their names.

When the village came into view, it finally hit me I was home again at last. The view was much the same as that I had seen when I turned for one last look before setting out on my exile. To see it again when I had thought never to return was like a dream and I expected to wake up at any moment. Damon led us steadily through the houses and buildings, never making a sound. I caught a glimpse of the pavilion and of the temple as we passed and my stomach fluttered.

Damon sensed my feelings. "Shall I take you there?" his voice asked in my mind.

"Not yet," I replied quickly without words, "Soon. But not yet."

We continued on until my father's house rose before me. Larger than the others in the village, it was still nevertheless a simple and modest sized structure of wood, as was the style of my people. We did not build extravagantly or ornately. Function mattered far more than form in all structures save the temple itself.

Through Damon's senses I knew there were two people in the house. One lay in bed sleeping with labored breath, an old man before his time. The other was a young woman sitting in another room, weeping. I knew her at once.

"Shara," I said, and Damon's presence slipped away until we were parted. I could feel him reaching, struggling to hold on and stay with me. When at last he appeared beside me, his face was in agony.

"I tried," he breathed, "I could no longer maintain the union." There was bitter disappointment and loss in his words.

"It's alright," I replied, "This is far enough. You have done well, and I thank you. From here I will go on alone." I turned to enter the house.

"Markis," he said, "What about the girl? Let me come with you and I can distract her."

My mouth tightened. "I will deal with her myself. Go."

And he went, or vanished at least. I doubt he ever truly left my side.

I turned my attention to the home of my youth, where my father and the woman who was once my bride were waiting. There were not two people in the world I feared to face more. Shara was first. Certainly, my sense told me I should avoid her, do anything but confront her and let her see my face. She was weeping because of me, that much was certain, and why should I add to her pain and to my guilt by facing her again? Most likely she would try to stop me from seeing my father or even turn me in to my former brethren. No, the wise thing to do would be to avoid her altogether. What was she doing at my father's house? She would not stay long, I needed only to wait until she was gone. And yet I could not hide from her. After all that had happened, she deserved better than that. She whirled at the sound of my footsteps, her tears abandoned at once, and launched herself into an attack. She did not draw her blade, but came at me with fists and legs in a beautiful, deadly dance. I countered as best I could, but I was still weak from Damon's feeding and could not find it in me to strike her back. She ducked and spun, kicking my legs out from under me, and had me pinned beneath her effortlessly within seconds. I was too weak to escape her grasp, I knew. I did not even try.

"I knew you would come," she whispered, breathing heavily on top of me, "I told myself it was impossible, that you could never enter the town without being taken. But somehow, I knew. I knew you would find a way." Her hair was disheveled from our sparring, and tumbled down across her face without shape or meaning. I admired her beauty even then -- but admired it as a man admires the setting sun or a perfect flower, not as a man desires a woman to be his mate. Once again I knew that my choice to refuse her had been correct.

"How is my father?" I asked, when I had the breath.

She did not budge nor relax her grip, though I did not struggle against her. "He is not long for this world," she admitted after a moment.

"I must see him, Shara. I.... Please."

She was silent for a long time. "I should not allow you," she spat out at last. Her eyes blazed fiercely, even in the dark room, but her voice was weak. In it I could hear the sound of the girl she had once been, the girl I had once cherished like a sister. "I should be outraged you are here, and I should scream and shout and tell the others so that you can receive a traitor's proper welcome."

"And yet, you do not shout," I countered. One sound from her and it would be all over, all my plans brought to nothing before they could even begin. But as each minute passed without her raising the alarm, I became more and more certain that she would not do so.

"You have ruined everything," she said through grated teeth. "There was so much hope before. So much joy. Now everybody is miserable all the time. Your father will soon die and there will be no heir to the High Priesthood for the first time in hundreds of years. There are murmurs that all is lost and we have failed in our calling. That the one awaited will never come."

"Shara," I said, but she went on without heeding me.

"We have nothing to live for. All our hopes were on you. All our prayers. Many believed you were the son of power, and now they sit in the congregation and sing as before but their voices are empty and their eyes despairing."

"Shara," I said again.

She tightened her grip in anger. "Nobody speaks of you, nobody dares, but they are all thinking about you all the time. I can see it in their eyes. And it's driving us all mad, I know it. Why did you have to come back? How can you dare, after what you have done?"

"Shara," I interrupted insistently, "I never meant to hurt you."

Her grip slackened then, and the tears came. She caressed my face, my neck, my new growth of hair. At last she collapsed on top of me, burrowing her face into my neck and pulling me into a desperate embrace. I held her close, my heart full of guilt. I did not know how to take away her pain and do no think she would have allowed me to if I did. I had been so selfish, so full of thoughts of my own disgrace and exile, that I had never spared a thought for how my choice had affected her.

"I loved you with all my heart," she sobbed at last, her voice so soft I would not have heard had her mouth not been pressed so close to my ear. "I would have been a good wife to you."

"The best of all wives," I said honestly.

"Markis," She seemed to savor the sound of my name, "Why? What was wrong with me?"

I raised my eyes to the heavens in search of some way to answer her. I saw only the ceiling there, however, and no inspiration or words of comfort. Her hair was in my face, obscuring my eyes and mouth and tickling my nose, but I did not brush it aside. "It was not meant to be," I said at last.

She sat up at that, wiping tears from red eyes. "That was not an easy question for me to ask," she murmured, "I deserve more than an easy answer."

I struggled for words. "Nothing was wrong with you. Not a single thing. You deserve to be happy. I... I hoped you would marry another man."

Shara did not move, and for a moment she seemed as frozen as ice. A terrible statue of terrible beauty. "There are no other men." Her voice was firm, without emotion. "There is only you. When you left, I took the widow's vow - I will never give myself to another, and I will mourn my husband all my days."

"Our marriage was never consummated," I reminded her, "Our vows were not completed. We were never truly wed."

It was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it at once. It was as though I had rejected her all over again. Her face flashed with pain, but she hid it quickly and well. She released me completely and rose to her feet, turning her back towards me.

"Shara," I said, "Please believe me when I say that I was not for you, nor you for me. There was another path set for me. Who can say why? The world is full of things I cannot explain. Everything would have been easier if I could have simply taken you as my wife and stayed here, in my proper place. But easier is not always better, and now that I have walked the path of pain and suffering I would not choose differently if I could. I could not have married you. It would have been a lie, and you deserved truth."

Her shoulders tightened. "So it was for my sake, was it?"

"Yes," I said, then admitted, "For us both."

"Strange," she murmured sadly, and did not explain. For a long moment she stood silent, considering. At last she turned to face me once again. "I will take you to your father, but I warn you he sleeps most of the time and may not rouse to speak to you. But you must be gone by dawn. Leave by whatever means you came here, or else they will kill you and I cannot stop them."

"Thank you," I said, though I had no intention of fleeing, "And... I'm sorry."

Her eyes flashed fire. "Keep your apologies, Markis," she said, "and spare me your pity. I am stronger than you think." And so she was. She was always strong -- my wife, my princess, my queen.

"I do not regret seeing you again," she added suddenly, impulsively, "Despite everything. I am glad I did not listen to my brother. He says you have come here only to destroy us."

I turned away from her sadly. "He was correct," I said.

She left me at the doorway to my father's room, where I stood fixed with eyes only for the frail figure in the bed that I barely recognized. Light from a single candle cast shadows on his sleeping face, enough to reveal a pale reflection of the man I had called my father. At length, his eyes opened and passed over me, closed, and then opened again. We regarded each other in silence.

"I close my eyes," my father said slowly, his voice a hoarse whisper, "And when I open them, you are still here. That's different than before. If I was not sure it was impossible, I would think that this time you were my son in the flesh." His rueful laughter quickly dissolved into a deep cough, and his eyes shut again in pain. When at last the cough subsided, he opened his eyes and said, "If you are an angel, here to escort me to the world beyond, you could not have chosen a more painful form. Nobody expects kindness from Death, even a high priest... but I had not known it could be so cruel."

"I am not Death," I said, but knew even then that it was a lie. The words rang hallow in my ears as I thought of the coming conflict, of the turmoil I planned to bring to my people and to the world. "Your work is not yet finished, father. Our people's destiny is still to come and they will need your wisdom, as I do."

His face grew still and stayed frozen so long I began to worry he had gone. "Is it truly you?" he breathed at last. I said nothing, only took a few tentative steps further into the room. The single candle burnt on the table near his bed, and as I neared the light revealed me to him more fully. His eyes widened and his teeth clenched; I could see the tension in his jaw even behind his graying beard. My father, Stefanos, High Priest of the Taluid, was a shell of his former self; emaciated, pale, wrinkled, and looking older than I had ever seen him. Death and decay hung upon him heavily. "Often I have prayed for this," he said, his eyes devouring me restlessly, "And now... This I have learned: the Creator hears our prayers. Sometimes he grants them: but whether this is a blessing or a curse, no man can say."

"Which am I?" I asked impulsively.

"Exactly." He coughed again, harder than before. When he finished, his breath came in shallow rasps. "Why have you come?"

"I must speak to you," I replied, fists clenched.

"Are the words of the disowned now to be heeded?" he said through gritted teeth, "You have no honor and no voice here any longer. You who understood our ways so well must still understand that."

It hit me like a blow to the stomach, though it was no more than I had expected. I inhaled sharply, tightening every muscle to keep my emotion from showing. "Call me dishonored," I said, "Call me whatever you like. What I have to say is more important than me or you -- others have tried to silence me before, but they did they not succeed. I will be heard, whether I have a voice here or not... whether I am still loved, or not."

"You are my son," he said firmly, "My love for you can never be in question."

I staggered, outraged. "You banished me," I insisted, "You yourself spoke the ritual of excommunication. You took my sword and took the first lock of my hair. You turned your back to me as the Elders led me away forever..."

"And never have I loved you more," he said sharply, shaking his head. "Children. You never understand. When you were a small child and I had to punish you for misbehaving, you would cry and hide your head from me, certain my rebuke meant I hated you and wanted to hurt you. You never saw the truth, that it was my duty to correct you and lead you towards the right - that each punishment was motivated only from love, and was as painful for me as it was for you."

"You see it now, though, don't you?" he continued, raising his arm as if to touch me. I took a step closer and marveled at his shaking, withered hand. In precisely such a way, I had raised my trembling hand to Damon not one hour earlier. Suddenly I realized how much I resembled my father, and looking into his old and weary face I had a terrifying vision of my own future. He must have sensed this realization within me.

"You look at me, and you see yourself old and dying. You are thinking that one day you will be in my place. I know this, because once I too lost a father and stood where you do now. You see? We are bound together as one in the cycle of life. As my child, you are my second self, and what I have done to you I have done to us both. Your joys are mine, your sorrows are mine... and yes, your exile is mine too." He coughed again. "Your disobedience angered me, horrified me. I did not know that I could ever forgive you, and I could not spare you from your proper punishment. I did not exile you because I hated you, but because I loved you too much to do otherwise. But then as now I blamed myself and wondered when and why and in how many ways I had failed you..."

"Father," I protested, but he silenced me with a gesture.

"Let me speak!" he breathed, coughing, "I have little enough time now, and I am breaking every rule I know to say anything to you at all. Let me say my piece before I can no longer bear it... or before I am gone forever."

Quivering, I nodded and stayed silent. I knelt near his bedside, and his hand found my shoulder.

"For so long I prayed for the chance to say these things to you, that you would come back to me, even though I knew it was an inappropriate desire. But now I think perhaps this was how it was truly meant to be. They will kill you for returning, for defying your banishment. But, knowing this, you have come anyway. You have come to admit your guilt and to beg forgiveness from our people. You will die, but before you do you will have the chance to redeem your honor through contrition. It was not an easy choice, and a lesser man would have lived out a life of exile in fear. But you have not disappointed me. You will die redeemed, and I will soon follow you, and then... then we will be together with your mother in the great world beyond. My son. My only son."

He squeezed his red eyes closed while I sat in stunned silence. My father loved me despite everything, but his love was like a scourge that only whipped up new pain. My face grew hot with anger. His feeble hand cupped my cheek, feeling the warmth there, then drifted upwards to rest protectively on the crown of my head. It was here he touched my new growth of hair for the first time, and pulled his hand away in shock as though he had been burned. He began to cough uncontrollably, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I have spent many days wondering how you would react to my return," I said, almost to myself, "I expected anger, shouting, even violence.... I never imagined this. I think this might actually be worse."

"Your hair," he managed at last, "The curse."

"Gone," I replied, and I stood up to my full height.

"There is power in you," he whispered with sudden realization, "You have known true union of mind and body."

I thought of Alek and the moment we had shared deep in the tomb of Alander. "Yes."

"You have found love."

"And lost it. And let it go." I said, knowing now that letting go of something precious is often more powerful than hanging on to it. And knowing, too, that nothing is truly lost. He saw this knowledge in my face.

"You have seen the truth of all things. You have awakened." He drew a deep breath and shrunk away from me. "You have not come to beg forgiveness for your disobedience." It was only half a question, and his voice trembled with fear and anger as he spoke.

"No, father," I said firmly. "I do not require forgiveness for that - not from you or the Elders or anyone else. Once I would have gladly taken the honorable death you speak of rather than to face the shame of living as an outcast, but I see much more clearly now. I chose as I must, and as I had to. I would make the same decision again, and you would have done the same had you been in my place. There are no regrets."

With great effort, he began to lift himself to a sitting position, shaking a hand in outrage to silence me. "You speak blasphemies, child," he said in a tone of finality.

Something snapped inside of me. "I am not a child. I am an awakened Priest of the Taluid with the blood of Alander alive within me, and I speak the Truth," I said in a booming voice I barely recognized as my own. The words poured out of me with piercing certainty as it had only a handful of times before, once when I faced Valessa in her bedchamber, and another when I stood before the Council of Carmathen. I could feel the power surging through me, blazing at the old man before me. My voice seemed to shake the very walls of the room.

My father flinched and fell backwards, raising his hands to cover his eyes. "Your face!" he cried out. "It burns!"

I spoke slowly. "I am no longer a broken man, and I have not come here to beg or apologize. I have come for the sacred relics of our temple. I have come for the Crown of Alander. I have come to save our people, and to destroy them."

His eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He sputtered and coughed and screeched out words at last. "You are the Sha'Eluid!" he wailed.

I crossed to him and took his shaking hand into my own. "Yes, father," I said, squeezing, "And so are you. We are all one, all of us sons and daughters of power. If only we believed. If only we knew." ______________________________________________________________________________

**** Yes, I'm still working on this thing. Feel free to contact me and tell me not to give up! - thephallocrat@gmail.com.****